


all the pretty things that we could be

by cybercrow (clockworkcorvids)



Category: Deus Ex (Video Games), Deus Ex: Human Revolution
Genre: Anxiety, Awkward Flirting, Banter, Bickering, Bisexual Adam Jensen, But mostly fluff, Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Fluff and Humor, Love Confessions, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Party, Rated t for testosterone, Scars, Self-Esteem Issues, Sort Of, Swimming Pools, Trans Character, Trans Francis Pritchard, Trans Male Character, Unresolved Tension, adam is a very good boyfriend, discussion of past transphobia, fluff with a bit of angst thrown in for good measure, no beta we die like men, very mild angst, welcome back to me projecting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:22:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23599051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clockworkcorvids/pseuds/cybercrow
Summary: “Crime. We’ve turned to a life of crime. I can’t believe what boredom has done to us.”Francis, having stripped down to his skinny jeans and a loose T-shirt, glared at Adam without any real malice. “If you don’t shut up I’m going to push you into the pool fully clothed.”“Try me.” Adam flashed him a million-watt smile, to which Francis responded with a particular hand gesture that required no knowledge of American Sign Language to understand.Or: Francis and Adam ditch a boring pretentious work party to go break into a swimming pool and talk about their unresolved definitely-not-platonic tension. You know, as you do.
Relationships: Adam Jensen/Francis Pritchard
Comments: 11
Kudos: 37





	all the pretty things that we could be

**Author's Note:**

> title from [little numbers](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zsyjS_vJfkw) by boy,,,,such a good song ~~also while i was looking thru my spotify i realized that i dont have a lot of genuinely happy/uplifting songs i listen to these days oops~~
> 
> the idea for this hit me in a dream, i woke up and was like 'nah im not gonna write it now ill remember it', fell asleep again, had a completely unrelated but equally vivid dream, and finally just said 'fuck it i'll write it now before i forget everything'. here we are 3k later ig ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> im also goin to pretend panchaea doesnt exist in whatever this version of canon is bc otherwise the kinda stuff that we classify as 'horseplay at a pool' would quickly become very angsty =)

The clock on Francis’ HUD, when he willed it up to check, read a time closely approaching midnight. The party had been going on since before the sun went down, and it would no doubt continue until the sky began to lighten again. He’d slipped away after dinner became drinks, and had been standing on the balcony outside the fancy hotel’s restaurant for a while now. Lost in thought, losing time. 

A voice from behind snagged him, and pulled him steadily back into the real world as a fisher reels in their catch.

“There you are. Bored?” It was Adam.

“Game recognize game.”

A blur in his peripheral vision, and Adam was standing next to him. The other man didn’t lean on the balcony. Maybe he was afraid, subconsciously, of unwittingly breaking it with his strength. More likely, he was just used to standing as he was―a stoic, careful sentinel, haloed in the multicolored glow of the city and the white light from inside. He had a drink in each hand, shades covering his eyes, and he offered a drink to Francis while still gazing out over the skyline.

“I don’t drink anymore,” Francis said, though of course he was sure Adam already knew that. He’d stopped not long after being hired by Sarif, realizing that his uncontrollable coping mechanisms would have to be less harmful if he was going to keep them up  _ and _ hold a job. 

“It’s water. You’re dehydrated.”

Francis was suddenly aware of a dryness in his mouth, a tight, clogged feeling in his throat. A slight headache coming on. He probably wouldn’t have noticed it on his own, but sometimes a little nudge was all it took. He trusted Adam’s augs, anyways. Often, computer programs were more reliable than the machinations of the organic human brain―that wasn’t to say he  _ didn’t _ trust Adam, the man himself, but...well. He wasn’t really sure. 

He downed half the glass in one gulp and continued to lean on the balcony, eyeing the patterns that refracting light made on the railing. He chanced a sidelong look at Adam. The other man was drinking whatever was in his own glass, slowly and thoughtfully.

“This is boring,” Adam said, reiterating his earlier words.

“No kidding. I get that Sarif wants us to, like, keep up appearances for investors and shit, but  _ man _ I would rather be asleep right now.”

Adam chuckled, a low and rumbling sound. Somewhere off in the distance, a sky train rushed by, making the balcony shake just slightly, a nearly imperceptible tremor under Francis’ hands, and he imagined that Adam’s laugh had caused that. 

“You? Asleep? You must be  _ really _ losing it if you’d rather be asleep, Francis.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. We both know it’s just because I can’t stand interacting with you face-to-face for more than thirty seconds at a time.”

“Whatever you say.” Adam was smiling, the corners of his lips tugged upward just a little as he took another sip of his drink.

Francis scoffed, shaking his head, but he was smiling too as he rolled his eyes. His exasperation was tinted with humor, rather than the genuine annoyance that used to be the hallmark of his banter with Adam. He finished off his water, and finally stood back from the balcony, wincing at the stiffness of his back from standing in one position for so long. 

“We should get out of here,” Adam said. That surprised Francis; he’d been wondering if he should propose such a thing, and he hadn’t expected Adam to suggest it first. Adam, while he was certainly willing to bend and break the rules, typically didn’t do so unless it was necessary. Not for his own personal enjoyment. 

But then again, Francis wasn’t about to complain, and the sneaking suspicion in his mind that Adam considered their time spent together a source of enjoyment was enough to agree. He wasn’t sure what they were―something more than coworkers or friends, maybe something less than what that  _ something more _ would usually be called; hell, maybe they didn’t need to label it at all, except to get closure―but in the time he’d been around Adam in person, first for missions and eventually for leisure, he’d come to enjoy their time together too. 

The blatant tension in the form of lingering touches, lingering glances, a general sense of  _ lingering _ coupled with something not unlike longing, was also...well, Francis didn’t know  _ what _ to call it, but it was certainly there, and increasingly difficult to ignore.

“Sure,” he said. “Where to, though?”

Adam shrugged. To suggest his apartment would have been a bit forward, even for him, and Francis wasn’t about to suggest his  _ own _ apartment, mostly because the place was hardly livable―where it wasn’t completely devoid of any signs that someone lived there, it was just a hot mess. Sometimes he felt like that reflected the way he treated his own body, depriving himself of sleep as paper coffee cups with a fine silt of coffee grounds at the bottom piled up on his desk, eyes glazing over from staring into bright blue light for too long.

“This is a fancy hotel,” Francis suggested after a long moment of silence, thinking out loud, “and Sarif has co-opted the fancy bar and fancy restaurant. But did he do anything with the swimming pool?”

_ “Oh my god,” _ Adam said quietly, his voice even more gravelly than usual for the low timbre of his speech.

“You thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Hell yes.” Adam drained the rest of his drink, plucking Francis’ empty glass out of his hands before he could protest or even react, and headed back inside. 

Francis followed him, the two of them weaving through sinuous, flowing crowds of people, mingling and dancing and drinking, slaves to all sorts of vices―drugs, money, alcohol. Francis would keep his own vices, thank you very much. Coffee and Adam. Dark, bitter, definitely an acquired taste. Parts of his life that he probably couldn’t live without at this point―that he was  _ definitely _ addicted to. Some sort of techno-classical music, an awful mashup of strings and electronic sounds that could have, in theory, been interesting, but was honestly just assaulting his eardrums in reality, flooded through the bar and restaurant, just quiet enough to be background noise and just loud enough to be fucking annoying. If he didn’t pay attention for long enough, it faded, ringing in his ears like the buzzing of a broken laptop charger beginning to overheat, as he watched Adam deposit their empty glasses at the bar before beckoning for Francis to follow him out of the restaurant. 

The noise, the light, the whole sensory overload of it all, abruptly faded to nothing more than muffled background noise in the distance as Francis and Adam wove through a particularly thick crowd and finally,  _ finally _ exited a back door into a narrow, dimly lit hallway. Francis felt his body relaxing, tension unwinding just enough to make it tolerable for him to breathe deeply. Adam must have noticed his anxiety spiking, observant and  _ maddeningly  _ caring as he was. It was the kind of thing that made Francis―or, at least, the parts of him that were self-deprecating and angsty and hateful―want to grab him by the shoulders, shake him really hard, and ask him  _ Why the hell do you bother with me?  _ To the rest of Francis, to the parts of him that tried to take care of himself and not fill the world around him with vitriol all the time, it was...endearing. 

The two of them fell into step, Adam leading the way towards the swimming pool―he’d no doubt pulled up a map of the building on his HUD, which was wholly unnecessary given that there were signs on the walls pointing the way, but was so classically, overpreparedly  _ Adam _ that Francis couldn’t help but smile at it. 

“Think we’re gonna get kicked out?”

“Not if they don’t catch us,” Adam said. 

“You know, you’re probably going to smack your head on the tiles and short-circuit your augs, and then I’m going to have to drag your soaking ass back to work at―” Francis checked the time on his own HUD “―midnight on a fucking Saturday, and fix you up.”

“My augs are waterproof, Francis,” Adam replied, sounding so sure of himself that Francis almost hoped the other man got proven wrong just so he could get the last word.

“Unfortunately, they’re not idiot-proof.”

Adam was sputtering at him, face undoubtedly reddening more with every passing moment, but they’d reached the swimming pool, and Adam had already remotely hacked the lock on the door―it was laughably primitive; the door might as well have been left unlocked―so Francis pushed through and kept going, ahead of his companion. 

Still dimly lit by overhead fluorescents in charming shades of teal and green, the pool glistened. On one end, a hot tub, closed off and turned off; at the other, a diving board and slide, also closed off.

“If Sarif could see us now,” Francis remarked, to which Adam snorted. 

“I really hope he doesn’t.”

“Well, there  _ are _ security cameras―” Francis’ gaze swept the room “―but it’d be more trouble than it’s worth to shut them off. Wouldn’t want to raise suspicion. Besides, who the hell is going to check the feed for a closed pool on the one night the place is closed for a party?”

With that, he threw himself down on a lounge chair and began to unlace his combat boots. Even dressed with somewhat more class than usual, which was to say that this was the first time he’d worn his current clothes since their last wash, he wouldn’t be caught dead in anything without steel toes and multiple zippers. 

“We’re really living on the edge tonight, huh?” Adam remarked as he sat down in the lounge chair beside Francis’, unlacing his own combat boots―less flashy than Francis, and evidently a pair he kept in the back of the closet for special occasions, given that they appeared to lack noticeable scuff marks or stains from anything in the bodily fluid category.

“I’m not even going to justify that with a response, Adam,” Francis said flatly.

“Crime. We’ve turned to a life of crime. I can’t believe what boredom has done to us.”

Francis, having stripped down to his skinny jeans and a loose T-shirt, the contents of his pockets carefully emptied onto the lounge chair, glared at Adam without any real malice. “If you don’t shut up I’m going to push you into the pool fully clothed.”

“Try me.” Adam flashed him a million-watt smile, to which Francis responded with a particular hand gesture that required no knowledge of American Sign Language to understand. 

Francis found himself hesitating before taking off his shirt, hands faltering as he reached up and behind his head to grasp the neckline in both hands. Adam  _ knew _ he was trans;  _ had _ known for a long time, and had demonstrated more than enough that he was a good ally even―especially―when his own knowledge failed him. Knowing and seeing were two different things, though, and Francis had never bared himself―quite literally―like this before. It wasn’t that he was uncomfortable with the prospect of the other man seeing his scars so much as the fact that there just weren’t many occasions when it would have been appropriate for him to take his shirt off, but that old fear of rejection, invalidation, still struck him. It wasn’t even like it mattered; basing his own self-worth off of validation from others who would never― _ could _ never―understand the nuances of his experience would get him nowhere. He’d always told himself the same thing he’d heard years ago, from someplace he’d long since forgotten― _ those who mind don’t matter, and those who matter don’t mind _ . It wasn’t all-encompassing, really, if you thought too deeply about it, but...he had to remind himself, after years of deep-set fear, that Adam had proven his trustworthiness time and time again. 

Francis pulled his shirt over his head, suddenly hyper-aware of the air in the room crawling against his exposed skin, slightly humid, somehow warm and cool at the same time, light flickering where it hit him. Looking down, the dual scars on his chest were set apart from the rest of his skin in stark contrast, even more standout to him than the tattoo of a snake curling around one hip and the non-medical scars littering his sides from too many bike crashes. 

He stood. Rolled his neck in a circle. Checked the integrity of his ponytail. He turned and saw, in a move that made his heart jolt, Adam pulling off his own shirt, watery light glancing off his polymer arms. 

The two of them faced each other. Francis felt...vulnerable, but free at the same time. He felt like he was a teenager again, wild and soaring, making memories―the kind of memories he hadn’t had enough chances to make as a teenager. Adam’s shades retracted, and his gaze flickered down to Francis’ chest for a terrifying moment, sweeping over the expanse of his skin. Scars. Other scars. Tattoo.

Their eyes met. 

Francis opened his eyes to ask a question he wasn’t sure how to word, but all that came out was a yelp―Adam had picked him up as easily as if he were a child, and the gravity beneath his feet was gone as he was swept into the other man’s arms. Then, before Francis could even fully process this first action, Adam was leaping into the pool with a tremendous  _ splash _ , still holding Francis the entire time. 

“ _ Fuck you! _ ” Francis spluttered, pushing himself above the surface again, hacking water out of his lungs, but he was laughing through the curses. He’d forgotten how terrible wet skinny jeans were, and he was already dreading the horror of peeling them off. 

“Oh my  _ god _ ,” he said, treading water to stay afloat as Adam, arms still wrapped around his waist, grinned at him. The other man was swimming seemingly effortlessly, the smug asshole that he was. 

“Well, I guess we aren’t going to say goodnight to Sarif before we head out,” Adam said. 

“Yeah, that’s a hard pass from me.” Francis’ voice turned falsely sweet. “Also, I’d like to thank you, Adam, for being an absolute dickhead.” 

At that, he shoved Adam as hard as he could, which didn’t actually achieve much in terms of pushing the man underwater, but  _ did _ sufficiently surprise him. 

“Man, this is the worst pool party ever,” Adam said as he emerged from under the water, his hair somehow completely unaffected by it. Whatever product he used, it was more potent than the stuff on a duck’s back; the water slid off easily. 

“You agreed to it, dickhead,” Francis replied, splashing him. 

“And  _ you _ suggested it in the first place.” Adam splashed him back. 

“You’re a grown man, stop splashing me.” Another splash.

“You’re a grown man too.” Adam did not stop splashing him. This time, there was something in the way he said it, some acknowledgement, some emphasis on the word  _ man _ . Maybe Francis was reading too much into it.

“Ah, fuck it.” Francis gave up on the splashing fight, rolling over to float on his back instead, staring up at the reflections of water against the ceiling. It was ethereal, in an odd little way. It was nice. Somewhere behind him, Adam was diving and resurfacing, no doubt testing the ability of his augs to improve his lung capacity. This went on for a few minutes, and then came a bout of wild coughing―he’d overestimated said ability―followed by a sigh. 

“You good over there?”

“I’m fine.” Adam sounded slightly choked, but Francis knew well enough that the other man wasn’t in any real danger that he felt safe laughing in response.

A moment of silence, punctuated by gently sloshing water. 

“I know why you brought me out here,” Francis said.

“Do you?” It was a challenge, in classic Adam style.

“You saw me getting anxious. That’s why you brought me water, too.”

“Astute observation,” Adam replied. “You’re right.”

“See?”

A pause. “But that’s not all.” Another pause.

Francis swallowed, mouth suddenly dry again. It was ironic, he thought. And he knew what the other reason was, he was sure of it, but he didn’t want to say it. It felt like taking his shirt off all over again, he  _ knew _ he was being foolish, but he required certainty to operate, or at least disinhibition.

“Yeah. I...I know.”

He turned his head sideways to look over at Adam, the somber nature of the gesture more or less ruined by the resulting water that attempted to flood into his nostrils. Forcing himself into an upright position to retain what little dignity he had left, Francis continued to float. Adam, leaning against one wall of the pool with his elbows perched on the tiles, looked back at him, eyes glowing in the dim light.

“I want to spend time with you.”

“Now, or in general?” The question was rhetorical, but Francis wanted to hear the answer voiced anyways. 

“Both.”

Francis let his gaze wander elsewhere, eventually landing on a stretch of underwater tiles lit in a particularly pretty manner by the rippling water and the overhead lights. 

“I think we both already knew that.” His ponytail beginning to come undone, he pushed a wet curtain of dark hair out of his face as he paddled towards the side of the pool, coming to a stop next to Adam. Reaching down with pointed toes, his feet slipped on the little ledge a few feet down, but he found his footing after a moment.

“What are we, Francis?” Adam asked. 

Francis considered. “Gay, presumably,” he said. “At least, I am.”

Just like that, the tension was broken. Adam’s head dropped against his chest, his shoulders heaving with laughter. “I, individually, am bisexual, but I guess we’re gay as a unit.”

Francis threw his head back. “A  _ unit _ , listen to you. That’s one way to label it.”

“You want to label it?”

“If you do. I just want closure, mostly. Do you consider me a friend? Or something else?”

Adam leaned closer to Francis. Leaning on the side of the pool with his head on his elbows, facing the opposite direction to Adam but looking right at him, Francis felt that there was a substantial degree of humor, of  _ lightheartedness _ , carelessness, to this situation. It was something he rarely entertained in his life, especially not since he’d joined Sarif Industries. Especially not around Adam. Apparently, that could change, and he was more than willing to let it do so. 

He could feel Adam’s breath, stubble, that infuriating grin, against his ear. “I don’t know, Francis, what do you want me to consider you as?”

“You tell me.”

“I consider you as... _ gay _ .”

“Fuck off,” Francis said softly, turning his head so they were face to face. He was smiling. Their foreheads were touching now. Adam wasn’t exactly  _ wrong _ .

Oh.  _ Oh.  _ Now one augmented hand was gently clutching his hip, one resting on his jaw. 

“Really, though? I do consider you a friend. I trust you more than most people. But I...what we have is different than just friendship. If you’d be okay with it, I’d like to consider you a boyfriend―I mean, that term seems so juvenile, but―I want to consider you in the romantic sense.”

“I’d be more than okay with that. And vice versa.”

Francis’ heart, beating fast but quiet, as if it were trying to muffle itself so he could properly take in every word out of Adam’s mouth, suddenly jolted as the other man pulled him into a tight hug, chests flush together. He used to be awkward about hugs, not wanting to make things awkward for himself or anyone else with the presence of his chest―and the instinct to slouch was still there, not helped by years of late nights coding―but that wasn’t a problem this time. 

He could relax. In more ways than one. 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> my [art](https://pillowfort.social/clockworkcorvids)  
> my [twitter](https://twitter.com/aceofcorvids)
> 
> enjoyed this? pls leave a kudos and, if you're feeling up to it, a comment! feedback is the fuel to my fire <3  
> thanks for reading! c:


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